Published on April 16th, 2006 | by The Beige Baron0
On The Verge #30
TURD ON THE RUN, PART I
In recent times Kyle Sandilands has been making quite a name for himself. (Unfortunately, that name is “Absolute Fucking Prat”. But, hey, he probably thinks bad publicity is better than no publicity.)
Sandilands latest claim to infamy has been his shameless promotion of girlfriend Tamara Jaber’s single Oooh Aaah , the sole release on Sandilands’ own label, King Kyle records. Those of you who haven’t yet managed to repress it, will remember Jaber from the lame-duck PopStars confection Scandal’Us – the group that defied spelling conventions as well as good taste.
To be fair, there is a certain superficial logic to the combination of Jaber and Sandilands. After all, you’d think that when you combine two teensy-weensy talents, you’d at least get one very small talent. Apparently not, judging by Oooh Aaah , which boasts the immortal lyrics: “ Vroom vroom drive into the night now/Beep beep and we livin the life now”.
If it weren’t for the song’s constant reference to misplaced undergarments, we’d suspect Jaber of plagiarising The Wiggles’ lyrics. As it stands, the pre-school demographic will no doubt be nonplussed by Tamara’s penchant for being separated from both her bra and her pantyhose.
Sandilands, meanwhile, is not only unabashed by his association with this Everest of inanity, but has been playing it regularly during his shift at Sydney radio station 2Day FM. This conflict of interest would be a bit more palatable if the single wasn’t almost indescribably shit. But it is. It reeks. Most of us have flushed turds with more aesthetic merit than this dreck.
Not that this deters Sandilands. His cast-iron resistance to embarrassment was on full display during a recent appearance on Rove Live! , where he managed to unhand himself for long enough to wave a copy of the offending single in the direction of the camera. In a victory for good taste, the cameraman refused to focus on the CD and a distinctly unimpressed Rove later turned it face down on his desk.
In an unedifying example of “downward selection” Sandilands’ laughable lack of musical expertise (not to mention charm, wit, intelligence, and integrity) has seen him replace Dicko as a judge on Australian Idol .
We are shocked to concede that the show’s probably too good for him.
LINKIN PARK WHINE ABOUT NOT GETTING POCKET MONEY AGAIN
Insufferable brat-rockers Linkin Park aren’t just angry at dad for not letting them borrow the keys to the car – they’re now weeping about being swindled out of millions by a big bad record company.
The beady-eyed greedheads are pissed off that the $US3 million advance per album they’re currently banking isn’t nearly enough, considering the band “contribute to 10 per cent of Warner Bros album sales”. So? How do you think these companies get so rich, you dumb fucks? By profit-sharing? Thanks, I really needed a laugh.
Warner Bros was recently acquired by Time Warner Inc and is about to go public, and sniffing the sour stench of cash, Linkin Park suddenly doesn’t feel it’s fair that the nasty old record company should keep all the money when the band works their fingers to the bone taking drugs, getting sick tats and prancing about like circus clowns on crack with happy-gas masks stuck to their faces.
“I’m just so surprised that a large music corporation would exploit its talent to make lots of money for its executive team and shareholders,” commented a passing maniac.
The discontent surfaced when one of the band members dug out a calculator, poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth, knitted his brow and tapped in some numbers. “Yo, dudes! The new owners of the Warner Music Group will be reaping a windfall of $1.4 billion from their $2.6 billion purchase 18 months ago,” he moaned. “But we, their biggest act, will get nothing.” Well boo-fucking-hoo, you grasping, exploitative, talentless excuses for whores. Too late to undo your deal with the devil now, so suffer in your designer underpants.
Considering the band is only three albums into its five-album deal, threatening to break contract with one of the world’s most powerful record companies and release their music on the internet instead doesn’t sound like a sensible idea, especially when the band could stand to make another US$6 million for shutting the fuck up and shitting out a couple more records to satisfy the terms of the agreement. Don’t forget the band’s fanbase are either too young or too stupid to write their own names, let alone deal with the complexities of downloading a song off the internet.
The downside to this delightfully entertaining saga is there is little hope the band will break up in protest, and we can expect to hear a whole heap more ringtones bleeping about the unfairness of life from a group of middle-class white boys who’ve never known what it is to be hungry.
CULTURAL CRINGE ALIVE AND WELL AT THE JACK AWARDS
Despite having enough Australian acts to warrant any amount of crowing, the folks at Jack Daniels seem to think the appearance of Motley Crue’s Tommy Lee is the major drawcard for the Jack Awards, which were held in Sydney last night. They even went so far as to predict the manner in which Lee would approach the Seymour Centre; only those who were there can confirm whether Tommy did in fact ‘stroll’ into the venue. The rest of us will have to wait until Channel V broadcast the event to gauge the manner of his gait.
The rules of sobriety, and the clauses of various court orders, will no doubt have prevented Mr Lee from clutching a bottle of the sponsor’s product as he “strolled” down the black carpet, but if history has taught us anything, it is that Tommy is no stranger to Old No. 7. The folks at Jack Daniels must be hoping for advertising by association, which is perhaps why Coke have yet to approach Motley Crue for endorsement.
The loveable bozo was there to present the award for the Best Live Drummer, which, to give credit where credit is due, is something Tommy knows a lot about. But with Spiderbait, Powderfinger, Eskimo Joe, The Living End, and The Cops all up for awards, it’s a sad indictment on the state of our national pride that the appearance of a degenerate, washed-up, wife-beating drunk and former drug addict, who hasn’t released anything of note in nearly 20 years, can be given top-billing at an event designed to praise the achievements of Australian artists. It’s looking like the MTV awards all over again, folks, which proves that Jack Daniels, rather than knowing music, do indeed know jack.